


The One I Love

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Profound Zine Entries [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 23:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30046176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: Castiel gives up his wings, and starts over.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Profound Zine Entries [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2210352
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	The One I Love

The loss doesn't hit Castiel much like a freight train, but more as a quiet whisper, a tingling thought in the back of his mind. Like a memory of an old wound, a constant reminder of what he was, what he could’ve been. Any other day, and he might’ve even called it comfortable, a constant reassurance that what he did was the right thing, in the long run.

Right now, though, lying in bed with his sheets shoved down to his ankles, all he can do is stare at the ceiling and scream.

Dean rushes in, as Castiel always anticipated, with his gun drawn, expecting the worst. Covering his face, Castiel watches Dean through the gaps in his fingers, still shouting when Dean drags him off the mattress and into his arms, gun tossed to the foot of the bed. Warm, calloused hands pry his own away, palms cupping his tear-stained cheeks. “Talk to me,” Dean says, an order laced as a suggestion. “Cas, you gotta talk.”

“I can’t—” Castiel gasps, choking back a gag. Too much, too real. “I can’t feel them, Dean,” he manages, swallowing around the thickness in his throat. “They’re not—”

“I know,” Dean says in haste. How could he know? How could he possibly even understand? “I know, buddy. I was there last night, I saw it happen. But you’re gonna be okay, you hear me? Wings or not, you’ll be fine. I’m here.”

“How can…” Castiel hiccups, furiously wiping at his face. Nothing works—nothing about this feels normal, or acceptable. “How can you say that and believe it?”

Dean drops a kiss to his temple, slow and painful, and Castiel just sobs, slumping fully into Dean’s grasp. “Because I know you,” he whispers, quiet as the morning. “And I know you’re gonna be okay.”

-+-

“I’m thinking of heading out for a walk,” Dean announces around lunch, standing up from the kitchen table and stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rides up, and Castiel pointedly doesn't look, feigning his attention more on his half-eaten tuna melt. “You wanna come with?”

“I’d rather sit here for a while,” Castiel says, eventually pushing his plate away. Hunger is strange, he finds; one minute, he fears he might pass out, and the next, he can’t stomach another bite. It’ll take time to get used to, Sam told him during breakfast—but how long? Days, months, years? “I’m not feeling well,” he lies, head cradled in his hands.

Dean regards him with a noise, but faintly, Castiel still feels him linger, his presence infuriatingly constant. “C’mon, don’t lie to me like that,” Dean mumbles, somewhat sad. A hand smooths down the curve of Castiel’s shoulder, the touch disappearing just as quickly as it began. “You ever wanna get some fresh air, you know where to find me.”

The only problem is, Castiel doesn’t think he can. Not even a full day since he relinquished his Grace—willingly, this time—and the onslaught of emotions, of sensations and scents and feelings, bombard him at all hours. Disorienting doesn’t even cover it. Given the chance, and Castiel would spend the rest of his life in bed, cowering until his existence didn't feel like such a stain on the universe.

Hiding has never gotten him anywhere, though. As much as he wants to stay seated, Castiel drags himself to his feet and retreats to his bedroom to grab a coat from his wardrobe. Briefly, his hand lingers over his trench coat, fingertips tracing over the worn material almost longingly. Yesterday morning, it was just a coat—now, it might as well be a reminder of what he isn’t, what he always was.

Now, he’s… this. A frightened human, too afraid of looking at himself in the mirror, in fear of what he might find there.

A worn hoodie lies in the corner of the wardrobe, gray and slightly dusty. Dean gave it to him a few months back, when the weather wasn’t so sweltering every time they stepped outside. No rhyme or reason, but Castiel accepted it regardless, knowing he would never find a need for it. The coat was always enough—the coat was all he needed.

Sweater in hand, Castiel thumbs over the topmost button, acutely aware of the tremors that haven’t quite dissipated since this morning. _With time_ , he thinks, inhaling the scent hidden deep within the fibers. His heart warms, almost terrifyingly so. It still smells like Dean.

-+-

Castiel finds Dean walking not too far from the bunker, hands shoved in his coat pockets and collar pulled up to shield his neck. A bitter breeze bites through the streets of Lebanon, autumn quickly changing to winter before the last of the leaves can even fall. For a few minutes, Castiel simply follows behind at a distance, too entranced with watching Dean walk to disturb him. Normally, Dean is antsy, always glancing at his surroundings, even if he never quite moves his head; his eyes always move, observing, his body just as tense, poised to run at any given moment.

Here, he just walks, like the weight of the world has been lifted, and Castiel finds him utterly approachable.

“Was wondering when you’d show up,” Dean laughs the minute Castiel catches up to him. He brushes their shoulders together, and Castiel sways back into him, delighting in the smile Dean offers. “C’mon, tell me. How’s the weather?”

“Cold,” Castiel says, head bowed.

The first time, he only knew cold in the form of a gas station freezer, or a brisk fall evening spent sleeping with a jacket thrown over his legs. This is different, though. Intentional, refreshing to his senses and invigorating in a way he hasn’t felt in a long, long while. A fresh start, perhaps; a second chance, to change for the better. To atone on his own time, and to spend the years he has left with the ones he loves.

 _The one I love_ , he corrects himself, once again jostling Dean to the side.

To his shock, Dean doesn’t shove him back. Instead, he wraps an arm around Castiel’s shoulder, tugging him closer, sharing body heat through their clothing. Their fingertips touch, and Castiel’s cheeks warm; unexpectedly, tears form in the corners of his eyes, and he wipes them away before Dean can take notice.

Dean always notices, though. One of the few things that he hates about Dean, how somehow, he always knows. “It’s gonna be rough,” Dean begins as they walk, passing vacant houses and the few yards decorated for Halloween. A car drives past and disappears around a turn. “Trust me, humanity ain’t a picnic. I mean, the first time, you got—”

“Killed,” Castiel finishes for him. “I don’t plan on dying this time. At least, not of my own stupidity. I’d rather… If I had to die, I’d prefer to go in my sleep.”

“Got this all thought through, don’t you?” Dean asks, to which Castiel nods. “If it were up to me, I’d…” He stops, and Castiel walks ahead a few steps, before turning just in time to see Dean’s face fall. “Do we have to talk about this right now?”

“It’s a fact of life,” Castiel shrugs. Hands in his pockets, he hangs his head. “One I don’t like to entertain, but it’s there. I think it’s become my greatest fear, that one day, I may not awaken. And this time, I won’t come back, and I won’t…” Approaching Dean is almost natural—touching him, even more so, and Dean falls into him without so much as a fight, eyes slipping shut. “I don’t want to die. Do you understand what that means?”

In haste, Dean nods. “Means we’re both terrified. Means… I don’t know, Cas. Yesterday, you decided to give up everything, and now we’re out here having an existential crisis. Are you sure you want this? Because we can get your Grace back, it’s—”

“I don’t want it back,” Castiel shuts him down. Dean blinks, mildly affronted, but listens. “What I want is here, right here. I have Sam, Mary, Jack—I have my family, and I have you. And I need you to believe me when I say that I’d rather live like this, than as anything else.”

“I believe you,” Dean sighs. Still, he keeps his eyes distant, and Castiel only holds him tighter in reply, pressing their foreheads together. The cold bites his bare hands, pinpricks that ground him into the moment, into the warmth of Dean’s skin. “You really wanna start over like this?” Dean asks, his grin sneaking back in. “Middle age ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.”

Castiel checks over his shoulder before he presses a kiss to Dean’s lips. Sparks don’t fly, not like he always expected, but his heart pounds; if Dean’s face is any indication, eyes wide and mouth agape, he feels the same way. “There’s no one I’d rather go gray with.”

Dean snorts, and Castiel’s pulse quickens when Dean’s hands come to rest on his waist. “Looking forward to it then,” he says, mirthful. “Just… so many things.”

“We have time,” Castiel assures with another kiss, this one longer, heated.

Against his lips, Dean smiles and pulls him closer, and Castiel wouldn’t give up this moment for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Since I have absolutely no clue when the next issue of the Profound Zine is coming out, and I know I said two years ago that I'd wait to post them together, I've decided to forego that and post the piece that I published in the first issue. I haven't looked at this in two years so forgive me! This is part one of two, so the second part will be an additional piece of this 'verse!
> 
> Title is from the R.E.M. song.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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